


Sunrise Doesn't Last

by KieronNovak



Category: Castiel - Fandom, Dean Winchester - Fandom, Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: AU, Dean doesn't know about Supernatural, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:58:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KieronNovak/pseuds/KieronNovak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has always had a hard life. Hell, raising Sam with absent parents was hard, but becoming a Probation Officer, and trying to help unruly teens, that was hard. But when Dean meets Ben, the curiously rude teen after being assigned his case, Dean realizes life can get even harder. And when the demons come, everything will change...</p><p>A/N - I have a lot of ideas for this, however, being my first fic, would really appreciate feedback and ideas from you guys, anything is great, criticism will only help me better my work :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parole Duty

The loud bang of a heavy door echoed throughout a small, dank room, followed by the slide of metal on metal. No light came into the room, all except for the flicker of a dying candle, causing shadows to flicker, cast by a man chained by his wrists to the ceiling, forcing him to stand. His clothes were tattered, resembling rags more than anything. His skin was grimey, stained over time from being in this cell. He shifted his head, and a tear cleared a path down his face. The candle caught his eyes, which shone blue in the faint light, before the candle finally burnt out.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean walked through the crowds of post college kids, pumping from the pulsing music, which he thought sucked. He sighed as he squeezed between the sweaty bodies, eyes searching for his latest case. He spied the kid sitting at the bar opposite, who was staring into the crowd, eyes obviously watching someone, with a sly smile on his face. He was visibly young, barely on the cusp of adulthood, with short, dark hair, bearing underneath a tanned face. His stone washed skinny jeans and dress shirt, topped with a NY snapback instantly made Dean cringe.  
"Damn hipsters!" He cursed under his breath. Shaking his head, he proceeded towards the bar, leaning up next to kid and ordered a double whiskey. Downing it quickly, he turned to him, tapping on his shoulder. "Hey, y'know anyone who can...?" He asked tapping his nose subtly.  
Young hipster boy turned around and glared at him a little. Eye twitching slightly, he quickly replied with a slightly British accent "Dunno what you mean, mate."  
Dean bit his lip, and sighed loudly. Standing up straight, rolling up his sleeves, he exhaled "Gonna do this the hard way then."  
The kid's eyes widened, which Dean noticed were a electric blue, and like it was second nature, dashed off through the hordes of people, causing Dean to yell a loud "Dammit!" and take off after him. Knocking many disgruntled ravers over, he followed, hot in pursuit. Reaching the door of the club, he sprant down an alley, seeing the British kid jump over a fence. Dean ran, not giving up an inch of distance between them, and started closing in. This kid was fast, but years of chasing down perps had made Dean a mad long distance runner. Coming down to a riverbank, he saw the boy slowing, and grabbing the chance, took him to the floor. They struggled for a minute, before the younger of the two gave up. Catching his breath, Dean got up, holding out a hand to the youth, and panted "Me and you, we needa talk."  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Dean had sat the kid down on a bench overlooking the river, and after asking for his name, had got a brief reply of "Ben." Dean frowned at Ben, wondering what was so special about this kid he'd been asked to be his probation officer. From what Dean knew of him, he'd been a good kid, never got in trouble until recently when he'd started with the drug selling, and what the reports only mentioned as "Extreme anti-social behavior."  
"So you wanna give me whatcha got kid, cause if I don't take it, someone a lot less willing to let you off the hook is gonna?" Dean asked, sounding just like he did when he had lectured Sam as kids.  
"And what's to say I have anything?" Ben sassed back, his face dark.  
"Well, nothing doesn't run like you did."  
Ben was silent for a second. His jaw tight, fist clenched, he met Dean's eye. "I don't need help, I don't need anybody mate." He spat, getting up to walk away. Dean grabbed his arm abruptly, pulling him back.  
"I don't care what you think you need kid, but selling drugs in a club, which by the way you look way to young to be in, is not that. I've gotta a job, and it's helping kids like you, whether you like it or not, so make this a hell of a lot easier and not be a bitch about it!" Dean growled, his niceties gone with impatience. Ben stood his ground, staring Dean back. The stood like this for what seemed to be forever, before a hand slowly went into a pocket, and a large bag filled with orange and brown crystals was handed over to Dean. "And the knife."  
Ben shook his head, backing away from Dean. His expression turned from defeat to panic. Ben's legs were running before his mind had even realized, leading him as far away from there as possible. Dean stood perplexed, before seeing his mistake and his opportunity to catch him was gone.  
Something shone on the ground where Ben had ran. Dean went to inspect it, and examining it in his hand, found it to be a pentagram, with symbols carved around the edges. "What the hell..."


	2. 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben's upbringing wasn't what you would call conventional. Dark secrets surround his past, and his problems go a lot deeper than having his drugs confiscated by a diligent parole worker.

February 2013  
The school corridor was full of teens huddled around lockers chatting, students piling in the long, thin space, paper balls and bottles flying, loud voices chattering. Ben walked aimlessly, glaring at his peers, in their burgundy blazers. An obvious outcast with his long, dark hair, and non-uniformed tunnels, blazer slung carelessly behind his back. He slipped into the boys toilets, where he subtly slipped a sixth former a small baggie of white powder, in exchange for a roll of £20 pound notes. Going into a cubicle, waiting for a few seconds, before going to a sink, washing his hands. Looking up into the mirror adjacent to him, he saw Reece, a guy from his form group staring at him.  
"I know what did Ben." He said bluntly.  
  
"Yeah, what's that?" Ben replied cockily, tilting his head to the right, eyes narrowing daringly.  
  
"You gave her the drugs. You put Char in hospital." Reece accused, acne covered face screwing up, showing anger obviously.  
  
"Hmm, that what you think? Well fuck you, you tosser." He spat back, stepping forward. Reece copied him, fist connecting with Ben's face.  
  
"That's how it is then." Ben growled, wiping blood from his nose, swinging into a punch, to which a brawl broke out, with both sides fighting furiously, with Reece ending up smashing into a sink, slumping to the floor. Ben kicked him in the stomach, making the other boy spit up blood. "Don't fuck with me." Ben whispered into Reece's ear, kneeling down so he was level with him, before standing up, wiping his face clear and leaving, merging into the horde of teenagers.  
  
Leaving the school grounds, Ben walked to a nearby field, lighting up a spliff, before breaking down crying. Fuck, he thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Of course, people would think it was him, seeing as he was the only drug dealer at Glynfield High. And it wasn't like it wasn't his fault, if he hadn't been here, Charlotte Jerry would've never gotten hurt. From what he had heard, Doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with her, comatose from MDMA, which didn't make sense to them, especially with how little was in her bloodstream. But Ben hadn't supplied that to her. It was something much darker he had bought with him to the party where she had been harmed. Not intentionally. Never intentionally...  
  
He thought back to his earliest memories, his mother fussing about their dark home, smoke flickering out of metal bowls, acrid smells constantly making the house feel dank and unwelcoming. His mother, a sly woman always with a smile that seemed fake, would tell him stories about the dark men. How they would come in the night, and take young children away to their lares, never to be seen again, unless they were, which was always the worst of the two scenarios. Because these children would come back, shadows of themselves, their souls twisted, families who welcomed them back would wind up murdered brutally, carefully mutilated, with the child sat their playing with entrails like it was a game. Needless to say, Ben spent his childhood haunted by nightmares.  
  
He wiped away the last of his tears, and carried on smoking away his internal pain, numbing himself to feeling. He knew he had been the cause of Charlotte's coma, because the dark men had followed him ever since he ran away. Coming to a small town, in Surrey, England after leaving his mother's house in Scotland, he had noticed adult men, and occasionally a woman, watching him from across the street, or sat in the same café as him. Being a skeptical teen, he had at first thought these were normal people, but then came the time one had jumped him down a dark alleyway. He had struggled, but was easily overpowered, and in a moment of desperation, stabbed the assailant with a silver dagger he had stolen when he ran away. The dark man's eyes blazed red as the dagger pierced him, before falling to the floor, a lifeless corpse. It was from then he knew the stories weren't just to scare him into being well behaved, but were true.  
  
And it was at the party, he had seen another, a young guy who looked in his early twenties, whispering into Charlotte's drug induced ear. Ben had panicked, cowardice consuming him like a wave, and ran. He knew he could've done something to save her. And this filled him with bitter guilt. He prayed that she never wake up, less she inflict horror upon her loved ones. He knew what he had to do. Going into his blazer pocket, he withdrew a wallet, filled with drug money.  
"This should be enough." He whispered, to himself. Fighting back more tears, he made preparations. Using his phone, he booked a ticket online. A ticket to Manhattan Regional Airport, Kansas...


End file.
